Lost Letters
by TheSeerVolva
Summary: Matthew rummages through old letters and poems set back far into the 1800s to present. Though He doesn't believe he is snooping through the letters labeled to him he peers across the letters to find a more unspoken emotion for his Dutchman.


By: NetherDenCan/TakenIntoContext/Danerlands

Literary type: Spoken word poems + Short story mix

Pair: NethCan

Rating: PG maybe PG 13

dedicated to hoserfucker on tumblr

xox

It wasn't like he was snooping. no, that required digging through all the stuff in the attic instead of grabbing the box titled, "unsent letters".

There were letters, a multiple, opened but they had not been sealed in the first place and he brought the box into the master bedroom to sit it upon the bed. Vincent was out, called in by his bosses and now Matthew was alone, in his house, going into the attic and snooping through letters.

But it wasn't snooping, he sweared.

He opened the box on the bed, looking into it and spying a mess of years upon the letters. he picked a couple up. The addresses where all there, and they were to be sent to…. Him?

Should he look?

They where labeled… to him!

now it was definitely not snooping.

"November 20th, 1808." he read allowed. "Oh wow." He looked at some of the other dates, some of them were really old, some were fairly recent, by the time before they started to date.

He opened the oldest one, seeing the old address of his old house in Kingston in November of 1808.

"Well before Bytown was Ottawa." The Canadian noted to himself looking over the paper before reading it, trailing a hand over the ink.

He recalled the dusted smell of old tobacco but it was really to faint to tell at anything. to inside of putting his nose in it any further, he started to read the first letter.

—-

Dear Matthew,

no, that's not right, I'm not used to letters. I'm much better at poetry actually.

If this was of a business matter it would be much easier.

I saw you a day ago in the presence of England in London,

your captivating golden hair whisked against the wind as if it were a spring breeze,

and I could feel as though my heart could flutter and fly out of my chest instead of landing in my stomach.

It's hard to talk to you,

I fear as though the red will bubble to my cheeks,

and my affection would be seen and or rejected,

I desired to tell, and i desire still to tell,

and it makes me feel we shalt never speak again if I send this to you,

proclaiming my heart to you on some form of paper,

only to have it sent back in pieces.

I know you could never do that though,

you are far to sweet to the soul,

but sometimes even your light words,

when brought down to rejection,

can sting as much.

and if that is thy case at hand,

i shalt ask you once again to just be a conraded friend,

and alliance of sorts,

no need for courting,

and I do apologize, which i find i do not do and withstand to even try to do.

but for you,

dear Matthew,

The one i found that snared my heart in such a grace,

I do apologize.

Vincent

—-

"Holy." Was all the Canadian could say as he reread the poem, the letter, again. Since November of 1808?

He looked for another, placing the one he just read on the side table carfully.

He found one from 1814. The year the 7 years war, with his setting fire to the white house in Washington…

—-

Dear Matthew,

are you alright? How are you? You didn't get hurt by the war have you? Yes, I remember you telling me not to worry, and that you've always been in war since the first day, but as your friend I am allowed to worry to full extent, if needed be.

Its my job though. As a friend, I am both obligated and willing as well as eager to jump in with you at needed be.

Heard you burnt down his capital. Nicely done…

—-

"He kept all these…" He mumbled, "Why not send them? I wouldn't…"

he kept reading the letter, finding another poem.

—-

…

I know this sounds of much of a obsession but i promise it is not,

a little crush that has not died out on his flame yet,

but I do be fold promise you it will vanish by the end of it's wick,

though to the plenty I am not sure of which that day will be.

In honesty, I don't think this will end.

not until I know the warmth of your lips,

after the coldness of a death bed,

whisking me away into a eternal slumber,

but even then,

I know I'll think of you,

and watch over you,

but will not be able to love you closely,

as i can some what here.

Vincent

—-

Matthew felt his hand starting to grip at the paper. Did they all have poetry he's never read? He put the letter down with the other one.

"1860, 1874, 1912, 1916, 1810, 19…. 1940s!"

He had stumbled onto four thick stacks of letters. labeled from 1940 to 1949.

"Hold crap Vincent." he had been looking through the dates, from the bombing of Rotterdam… then there wasn't much until the liberation's start. He didn't want to open them, he really didn't. He was scared of the words, scared of what was written under scratchy pen, scared of the pain, or anger, or apathy behind it, scared of the worry.

"Vincent…" He murmured, "Should I read them?"

He weighed them in his hand, he wasn't sure, maybe… just a couple? based on dates.

—-

He wish he aborted the idea of reading some of these poems. he could feel hot tears rolling down his face at those from the winters of 1945, and some with messages of regret from the years of 1943-1944. He knew about some of the stuff, but, not like this. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

"Fuck." He picked one up from 1945 after placing the last one in the pile of ones opened. He stared at it. Should he open it? It was labeled the 5th. This one he was scared to open. would any love from before only be tainted by gratitude and the though he owed him? He opened the letter wiping his eyes again.

—-

Dear Matthew,

Thank you.

—-

He flipped the paper back and forth. but there was nothing else no poem nor res of a letter, no sign signature. He was confused, was it that they were to busy celebrating? or maybe he didn't want to seem obsessive.

but in all why not send this one out of any?

what emotion was behind the words, behind the hand holding that pen. He held the paper under a light but saw nothing. Maybe It was something he should ask Vincent…

but if he did than Vincent would know he was snooping….

….but he wasn't snooping…..

He skipped a couple year to another

—-

Matthew,

It's now 1949, Happy New Years!

I don't really know what else to write besides the wonders on how you are doing, and your people, and that i hope you are alright.

Years later and I saw the change in your eyes,

but could not say a word to you,

nerves caught in my throat,

wishing to get out and tell you, show you,

I want to press my lips to yours,

but I fear if I do so others shall judge you,

though I know for over a human's life time I've loved you,

and waited,

for that look,

those eyes to fall upon mine,

it brings me in deeper,

and maybe let yours follow mine.

—-

He was overworked that night, all he wanted was to see Matthew and go to bed.

Vincent turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open quietly. It was eleven o'clock and the last thing he wanted to do was wake up to question why in the world he was this late. That was best to explain till the morning, though in reality Matthew was the type to already know.

He hung his jacket in the closet, kicking off his shoes and placing them neatly to the side on a mat. He walked down the hall, placing his bag down in his office space before heading to the bedroom, pulling at his scarf carefully, taking it off and folding it.

The door was slightly ajar, he placed his palm up against the wood and pushed lightly. The lamp was on, and Matthew was passed out on the bed clutching a piece of paper to his chest. He looked around, envelopes and paper littered the bed and bed side table. He was confused at first before his eyes spied upon a box that labeled "unsent".

Vincent could feel his heart stop at that moment.

Maybe he should wake him? No… No, that was a bad idea. How did he react to them all?! He shook his head, he needed to calm down it wasn't necessary to act irrationally. He picked up the letters around the other man, placing the ones unopened by the Canadian on the nightstand with the other's.

He unwrapped the other's arms to retrieve the last letter… this was always tricky, since it always led too….

As he took the letter away, arm wrapped around his neck, strongly pulling him down towards the bed.

"Mat… Matt!" His voice was in a whisper as a hand reached back to grab at the others grip and placed the letter on side table.

"Mat come on let me get undress first at least…" He managed to get the other off his neck but the Canadian decided to latch around his torso now. He smiled with a little smile, and started to undress anyway, finding it difficult.

It took him a bit but he managed to crawl into the other side of the bed, managing to pull the covers over bother of them, and undress the other own to a tee and boxers. He pulled Matthew in by the waist, nuzzling his nose into his hair.

He was almost asleep himself when his heard the soft, "Vincent?"

His eyes opened lightly as he looked up catching the other's eyes with his, he pulled him in closer, "Matthew it's Eleven Thirty, go back to sleep."

"The letters…"

"We can talk about them tomorrow." He kissed his head.

"No… Vincent, I wanna say this now before I fall asleep again…"

Vincent didn't say anything but rubbed his side as he gave an a-okay.

"I love you too." Matthew said with a small smile and a lazy peck to the other's lips before letting his head plunk back onto the pillow, nuzzling up against the Dutchman's chest.

A light tattered blush draped itself across his cheeks before he kissed into golden blond hair.

"I love you too."

xXx

He woke to and empty bed, missing letters, and the smell of coffee and pancakes.

He was always the one to wake up later. Damn his laziness.

Matthew moved the covers noticing his lack of sweater and jeans and he passed his hand through his hair. He took the letters… was he mad?

He got out of bed, lazily rubbing at his face as he started down the hall.

"Vincent?" he called as he passed the bathroom, soon to get to the kitchen and seeing the tall man at the stove, flipping the last pancake onto the plate.

"Morning…" Vincent replied turning with the plate, bringing them , "How'd you sleep?"

"good," He said eyeing the box on the counter labeled 'unsent'. Shit, he knew, what was he going to do.

He panicked as he saw Vincent's eyes meet at the box as well.

"Shit! I'm sorry Vincent I went into the attic, and I saw the box and opened it! And when I saw they were for me I just had to read them but I'm sorry I'm sorry!"

"Matt it's not a big deal… I was…"

"No it IS a big deal!" He kept going, "I went through something PERSONAL of YOURS and I was OVERLY curious and LOOKED through it without asking!"

"Matt…"

"And now I read some of them…"

"Matt…"

"..And saw and read those poems…"

"Matt…"

"Not to mention just the one that says-!"

"MATT!"

Matthew looked up from the blabbering sorrys and saw the agitated look on his boyfriend's face.

"Just shut up for a minute." Vincent said fingers pressing at the bridge of his nose, "When you get on a sorry tangent there's no stopping those two words spilling from your mouth… it's like you think you'll never be forgiven or something."

"Sor-"

"Don't."

"Well it's not like I can help it."

"Really? Pretty sure you can help that fact they're words, coming from your mouth."

"Excuse me, but I think apologize are important! At least they show that I can be sorry, unlike some people who don't even say it."

"yeah, well at least when I do actually say it, it doesn't lose it's meaning so fucking fast that it's another useless word."

Matthew walked up to the taller man, staring up at the other's annoyed look, him own shadowing his face. It was another silly little argument over some particularly stupid. But these little arguments… they seems to rally him up really good.

"Least I mean it every time I do say it!"

"What makes you think I don't?!"

"…"

"Well? Can't prove that can you?"

"You get this look."

Vincent gave a questioning look, "a look?" He huffed a bit, "I'll bite.. What look."

"It's like a mocking smile."

"Bull. shit."

"How is THAT bullshit when I see it almost EVERY TIME!"

"CAUSE I DON'T GIVE A MOCKING SMILE TO PEOPLE I LIKE!" Vincent breathed for a second, "… or love."

It was almost like a hiccup, the sucking in air silent as he felt a small jolt of affection and surprise. He really shouldn't have been surprised, he read the letters, he always knew how the other felt. It was really now he figured the pointless arguing needed to end.

And at that he started to laugh.

"What's so funny."

Which really wasn't the best idea.

"God fucking damn it…" Vincent muttered rolling his eyes as he stood straighter, folding his arms.

"Wait Wait!" Matthew said pulling him back by the collar to kiss his lips a multiple, "I get it, sorry."

He pulled away a bit to laugh, "Another argument about nothing… over a word."

They kissed for a bit, the Dutchman's hands resting on the others hips. They always found this way the best way to makeup in the end, some were heated, others sweet, sometimes they'd even end up on the floor or against the wall. This one was normal, a sweet sort of way after small laughter.

Index fingers slipping under the sides of the Canadian's boxers and pulled at the sides.

_Snap._

"Ow!" Matthew jump, "What was that for."

"You said Sorry again." Vincent smirked a bit, "Punishment~. Now come on I made breakfast."

—-

As they ate at the table Matthew looked at the box constantly. He hadn't minded, but why would he have it on the table, sitting in front of him, so close to him. Was it a test? a way to push it in his face that he did look? Maybe… even a trap to see in he would look again?

Maybe…

He kept thinking about it until he saw Vincent put his hand into the box to fish out a letter, taking it out of it envelope, opening the letter.

"September 11th, 2000… Dear Matthew," He began to read, this letter had been longer than the others, "Are you and your brother alright, the attack hit the news so fast, even Europe knows now. How bad is he? Are you okay? Did anything happen to you? How bad is it?…."

Vincent stopped for a moment, "I'll skip this…" he sad flipping a couple pages to the last.

His words were spoken with the tone that Matthew only was to hear. He was the only one two hear this voice, smooth and velvety.

—-

"I thought I'd write you something again, Though I know you'll most likely won't see this nor this letter will reach the light of day… I'll probably just call you later on the phone, but after centuries of writing… It's hard to stop. If you do see this I know you're probably wondering why I am still hand writing these letters…"

"…"

Vincent leaned onto the table, forehead in hand. He was obviously kind of embarrassed by reading it aloud.

"But It is more personal that anything else, and I feel as though, we'll get together one day. And that's how I feel when I write poetry to you, as if it will direct you to me even though you will not read them all or any of them in the future. I know it's sappy…"

Matthew stood as he listened, bringing his chair next to the others to sit down next to him and watch what he was reading, being the little nosy man he was. A hand slid on the others thigh, sliding down onto his knee. Vincent looked over at him, a tiny embarrassed smile crept on his face but he looked back and read the poetry part.

"I've wondered over the years if you would make the move or i,

but those eyes of yours,

i feel as though they are drawn to mind and i know it's silly and selfish of me to consider or even assume your interest,

but i can't help it,

not for how long i have waited for the violet eyes to trace over me,

as if i couldn't notice."

Matthew blushed a little bit.

"but the way your eyes widen in wonderment to the skys when we leave a meeting,

the way your lips curve into a smile when someone says something kind to you,

the way you laugh at a joke, the sound,

it makes the world seem you are all that is perfect,

i can't see the negative.

i know you've gone unnoticed by most,

or think you have by all,

but my eyes never wandered from you in a time of wondered awe,

of when just is the time to woo you,

when will we all think that it's right,

to love the same gender.

but in 1949, i felt it.

but i couldn't do a thing…

I've wanted to kiss you for an eternity….

They're like petals,

of roses or tulips,

soft to to the eyes,

if only i could touch them with mine.

if only i cou-."

A hand slid upon the Dutchman's cheek, turned his head towards the Canadian who leaned forward. They gazed at one another for a moment, just a moment, looking at each others eyes and tracing the curves of each other lips before Matthew leaned him fully pressing his lips to the others. soft, petal like lips against ones that were dry and chapped slightly. Vincent placed the letter down, letting his hand slip into the others hair. It was a sweet kiss, one filled more with slowed passion, none of eagerness.

It didn't take poetry, admirement, longing love, or the letters for Matthew to know that he would love this man forever.


End file.
